Blaine really liked Kurt.

            He realized this when he woke up, breath still a little ragged, face flushed with warmth, the sensation of Kurt’s body against his still as vivid as if it were real. It was the first time in ages that he’d dreamt of something other than the dance. He felt a rush of guilt; he shouldn’t be having those kind of dreams about Kurt. He didn’t even know if they were friends! He wanted them to be, but how can you become friends with someone when you only ever see them in a waiting room?

            And then Blaine had an idea. A brilliant idea.

            He texted Wes Saturday morning.

            Blaine: Wes, my oldest and dearest friend.

            Wes responded a minute later.

            Wes: We’ve known each other for a month.

            Blaine: You know how much I love you, right?

            Wes: ….What do you want, Blaine?

            Blaine grinned to himself, tapping out a response.

            Blaine: You also know how you have a car?

            Wes: And where will we be going?

            Blaine: Ever heard of the Lima Bean?

            Wes drove over to Blaine’s house and they used Google Maps to find directions to the Lima Bean. Wes bitched about the long drive (“That’s almost two hours, Blaine, do you know how expensive gas is?”) but eventually he agreed. They got in the car and started down Main Street.

            “What’s so special about this ‘Lima Bean,’ anyway?” Wes asked, merging onto the freeway. Blaine looked down, furtive and embarrassed.

            “I heard they had good coffee,” he fibbed.

            “There are like ten great coffee places within a five-mile radius of your house, Blaine. Why are we driving all the way to Lima?”

            Blaine huffed out his breath, watching out the window as cars passed by. It was early, so the roads were actually fairly empty. Morning rush hour had just passed. Blaine swallowed against the dryness in his throat and traced nonsense patterns onto his knees as he spoke.

            “I met this guy,” he said. “I really like him. He goes to the Lima Bean a lot.”

            Wes glanced at him, grinning. “Good for you! Where’d you meet this guy?”

            This is what Blaine had been dreading. He hadn’t told any of his school friends about seeing a therapist. He hadn’t even told them why he’d transferred. Blaine couldn’t look at Wes, so he looked out the window. “In the waiting room of my therapist’s office.”

            Wes looked over at him again, and Blaine caught the raise of his eyebrows before he looked away again. “Oh. Wow. I didn’t know you—”

            “Yeah. I haven’t really told anyone.”

            “Wow,” Wes said again. “And is this guy also seeing your therapist?”

            “No. He just drives his friend. We talk while she’s having her session. He’s…he’s just really nice and charming and gorgeous and I want to get to know him better, you know?”

            Wes nodded, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “So in order to do that, you thought the best plan was to stalk him at his favorite coffee shop?”

            Blaine’s cheeks reddened, and he punched Wes lightly on the arm. “I’m not stalking him, Wes.”

            “Mmmhm,” Wes said, not sounding convinced. “Whatever, man. I’m only in it for the coffee.” But he was smiling, and Blaine felt a rush of gratitude.

            “Thank you, Wes. Seriously.”

            “Hey, man, what are friends for, right?” Wes switched lanes and then glanced at Blaine again. “So… you’re seeing a therapist?”

            Blaine’s face felt ever hotter. “…yeah.”

            “Oh. Look, I’m not judging you, you know. It was just a little unexpected. So are you depressed or something?”

            “I guess.”

            “Huh.” Wes nodded slowly, almost to himself. “I hope you get better, man.”

            And that was it. No disparaging comments, no weird looks, no awkward tension. Blaine smiled. They drove.

            They talked about Warblers practice and concerts and whether Katy Perry had talent (Blaine said yes, Wes said no) and they blasted the radio and belted along to the songs. And finally they were merging off the freeway and the Welcome to Lima sign whizzed past Blaine’s window. They drove through the unfamiliar neighborhood streets until, finally, Wes found the little coffee shop and pulled into a parking space. Blaine’s heart was racing.

            “What if he’s in there?” he said, gripping Wes’s arm suddenly.

            “Isn’t that the point?” Wes asked, gingerly prying Blaine’s fingers off his bicep.

            Blaine tilted his head a little in agreement, but he still looked terrified. Wes rolled his eyes and dragged Blaine into the shop. A barista called out a welcome and Wes pushed Blaine forward into the line of people waiting for coffee. Blaine was cringing, eyes roaming the shop.

            “For God’s sake, Blaine, will you quit it?” Wes ordered a tall coffee, black, and Blaine stopped scanning the shop long enough to order a medium drip. They stood by the counter while they waited for their drinks. Blaine shoved his hands in his pockets.

            “This is a nice place,” Wes said, looking around. “Hope the coffee’s good.”

            Blaine grunted noncommittally. “What if he shows up while we’re here?” he said anxiously.

            “Then we will say hi, I’m assuming,” Wes said. “Seriously, Blaine, stop freaking out. You’re fine.” Their orders were ready, and Wes grabbed his drink and a few packets of sugar from a bowl and found them both a table by the window. Blaine sipped at his coffee; it was really good.

            “Wow. I can see why your friend likes this place,” Wes said, drinking his coffee. “What’s his name again?”

            “Kurt,” Blaine said.

            The bell on the door dinged, and Blaine looked over, his heart hammering in his chest. And oh God oh God Kurt was holding the door open for Quinn, and they were chatting idly and Blaine ducked his head down immediately.

            Wes turned around in his seat to look at the door. “Is that him?” he asked in a low voice.

            “Yes,” Blaine squeaked. “Turn around, stop staring! Oh God this was a terrible idea, we can’t let him see me, I’m going to have a heart attack—”

            “Blaine?’

            Shit. Kurt was standing by their table, looking confused but not displeased. “What are you doing here?”

            Blaine shot up, plastering a too-big grin on his face. “Kurt! Hi! How are you!”

            “Why are you shouting?” Wes asked unhelpfully. Blaine drove his foot into Wes’s calf.

            “I’m fine…” Kurt said, looking from Blaine to Wes in bewilderment. “Who’s this?”

            “Wesley,” Wes said, holding out his hand for Kurt to shake. “I’m this one’s chauffer, apparently.” He grinned wryly, and Kurt laughed. Blaine stared at Wes, his eyes betraying his panic and irritation. Wes caught the look and cleared his throat, looking down.

            “So, what brings you two all the way to Lima?” Kurt asked. “Don’t you live in Westerville?”

            Blaine was at a loss for words. Wes was right, this was totally stalking, he was the creepiest person alive, Kurt was going to hate him—

            And then Wes came to his rescue. “I’m kind of a coffee addict,” he said. “I’ve been to like, every coffee shop in Westerville looking for the best cup of joe, you know? And Blaine here was telling me about how his friend Kurt loved this place so much, so I just had to try it out.” He spoke with a smooth, confident air, and Blaine was in awe.

            Kurt seemed to buy it, too. “And what do you think?” he asked, grinning.

            “This place gets an A-plus. Ten gold stars,” Wes said decisively.

            “Oh good. I would have seriously questioned your judgment if you said otherwise,” Kurt joked. Blaine couldn’t stop himself from checking Kurt out as he talked to Wes. Blaine’s eyes roamed over Kurt’s crossed arms; his long, delicate hands; his broad shoulders; his lips…

            “So, Blaine,” Kurt said, and Blaine met Kurt’s eyes guiltily. “Will I see you in the waiting room today?”

            “As always,” Blaine said. Kurt smiled, and he looked so genuinely happy at the prospect of seeing Blaine, Blaine just had to smile back.

            Quinn, who had been ordering their drinks, approached the table now. She passed Kurt his coffee—“Grande nonfat mocha!” she said with a smile—and sipped at her chai latte as she appraised Blaine and Wes.

            “Hello,” she said to Blaine. “You’re Kurt’s waiting room friend, right?”

            “That I am. Hi, Quinn,” Blaine said. Quinn’s smile seemed more sincere than Blaine had seen it previously, and he felt a rush of relief.

            Kurt sipped his coffee. “Well, we’d better hit the road. See you later, Blaine! Nice to meet you, Wes.” He took Quinn’s arm and they walked out of the shop. Blaine watched them out the window, and once they’d driven away he sighed dramatically.

            “He was cute,” Wes said, idly stirring his coffee. Blaine spluttered.

            “I thought you had a girlfriend?” he said indignantly.

            “I am straight, but I’m also observant,” Wes said, laughing. “Calm down, lover boy, he’s all yours.”

            “We hardly know each other,” Blaine lamented. “And he lives so far away, it’s not like I can casually run into him without it being creepy like this.”

            “Yeah, you’re welcome for saving your ass, by the way,” Wes said. “Also thanks for breaking my shin, I needed that.”

            “Sorry,” Blaine said sheepishly. “I was having a mental breakdown.”

            “Clearly.” Wes gulped his coffee down. “Wanna head back?”

            Blaine grabbed his Styrofoam mug and nodded. “Probably best. Hey, Wes? Can I ask just one more favor?”

            Wes eyed him. “You’re not going to ask me to drive around looking for his house or something, are you?”

            “No! God, no.” Blaine chewed on his bottom lip, fiddling with the lid of his coffee. “Um, could you drive me to my therapist’s office?”

            Wes’s eyes softened. “Yeah, man, of course.”

            “Thank you,” Blaine said, and he hoped that Wes knew he wasn’t just thanking him for the ride.

            “Your dad forgot about us, didn’t he?”

            “No. He’ll be here. He’s just late.”

            “Hey, faggots!”

            Panic. Step forward, be brave, voice stuck in throat, feeling so small.

            “Just ignore them, Daniel.”

            “Hey, cumsuckers, I’m talking to you.”

            Heart pounding. Footsteps. Slap. Crack.

            Blaine couldn’t sleep. He was in his dorm room, staring at the ceiling, blankets pulled up to his chin, heart beating faster and faster until he thought he might have a heart attack. He wanted to stop, just stop all of it. Stop existing.

            He didn’t want to wake his roommate, a boy he didn’t know too well who would probably think him weak and cowardly if he saw Blaine crying. So Blaine kicked back the covers and tiptoed to the door. He slipped out into the hall, sliding down against the wall and pulling his knees to his chest. The worn flannel of his pajamas was soft and loose and he pressed his cheek against it, trying to slow his heart rate like Dr. Halling had taught him. Slow, deep breaths. In, out, in, out, in… But in and out and in and out was rapidly becoming inandoutinandout and soon Blaine was hyperventilating in the middle of the hallway at close to one in the morning.

            Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, tears pressing through his lashes, trying to think of something that would make the unstoppable fear go away. But his brain was stuck on repeat, and he couldn’t get out of the loop.

            “Blaine? That you?”

            And Blaine lifted his head, sniffling and choking on his muffled sobs. Wes was standing before him, wearing dark blue silk pajamas, hair sticking up all over the place, sleep in his eyes. Blaine sometimes forgot that Wes was the upperclassman monitor for his hall—he must have heard Blaine crying.

            “Blaine, what’s wrong?” Wes knelt beside him, resting a gentle hand on Blaine’s shoulder, and Blaine felt the fat tears spill out of his eyes before he could stop them.

            “I—I’m having a p-panic attack,” he managed, voice louder than he would have liked.

            “Do you need me to get someone? A teacher or something?” Wes asked, voice hushed and heavy with sleep.

            Blaine shook his head. “C-can you just stay with me?”

            Wes had the saddest look in his eyes. He sat back, crossed his legs, and kept his hand on Blaine’s shoulder as Blaine continued to cry.

            Blaine was never quite sure what made his panic attacks stop. When one started, it felt like it would go on forever. But then, eventually, he’d be able to focus on something else, like the weight of Wes’s hand on his shoulder, or the numbness of his ass from sitting on the carpet for so long. And then his breathing would even out. His heart would stop racing. The ache of sobbing in his gut would ease.

            Blaine looked at Wes. Wes was nodding off, leaning against the wall, hand slipping off of Blaine and onto the carpet, jerking him awake.

            “Are you okay?” he asked quietly. Blaine nodded. The two boys stood up, Wes rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes. “You sure you don’t need me to get you anything?” he asked through a yawn.

            “No, I’ll be okay. Wes… thank you.” Blaine flushed, staring at the carpet. “I know you must be thinking—”

            “I’m not thinking anything. I’m just glad I was here to help,” Wes cut him off. “Seriously, Blaine, I’m not judging you. I’m your friend, you know? Friends don’t judge.”

            When Blaine went to bed again, he cried a little more, but this time it was because he was happy.